Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper
by Nokomiss
Summary: Mystique and her kiddos are invited for dinner at Magneto's lair with his delightful team. *COMPLETE*
1. Of Reactions and Rascals

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: Yeah, I'm back. Hi! Here's the first chapter of my latest comic caper, starring none other that the majority of X-Evo's bad guys (and gals)! Hope you enjoy, and remember: Only YOU can prevent forest fires.  
  
Disclaimer: (All-New Witty Poem Version)  
  
The words may be brand spanking new But I'll give credit where it's due... None of the characters are mine I'm just having a good time.  
  
  
  
Chapter One: Of Reactions and Rascals  
  
"We will be having dinner with them." Mystique informed the ragtag team that stood in front of her, hoping with all her mighty blue might that they would, in fact, go gently into that good night, tossing Dylan Thomas's well- intentioned advice to the proverbial wind.  
  
"Them who?" Lance asked suspiciosly.  
  
"Magneto and his new recruits." Mystique said with the barest of cringes. She hoped no one saw that cringe. She couldn't afford to show any weakness. None whatsoever...Dear Lord, they were reacting to the news.  
  
Despite Mystique's hopefulness, the announcement was not well received by those hip cats known as the Brotherhood.  
  
Wanda, predictably, glared and grimaced with the stylings of a world-class actress, and screeched like a constipated buffalo about the unfairness of the universe, how much asylum food tasted like cardboard, and she may well have mentioned something about hating and wanting to kill her father in several incredibly imaginative ways involving a cheese grater and a stuffed monkey.  
  
Lance scowled, and announced exactly what Mystique could do with the suggestion, as well as several places where she could put it, some of which she would most definitely have to shift in order to achieve.  
  
Todd disagreed because Wanda disagreed, and for the fact that this "dinner" would take place during Fear Factor, which has to be his favorite show in the world. All those nifty things the people got to eat...he once saw an episode where they ate crickets! Imagine! He would rock at that, he just knew it.  
  
Fred looked excited at the prospect of getting to eat for free in a new, simulating environment, surrounded by people from several nations and backgrounds, and of all the interesting conversational topics which would surely be discussed.  
  
Meanwhile, at Magneto's Super-Secret, Hidden, Very Evil, No Good, Very Bad Lair, similar news was being delivered to the new recruits, who will be referred to as the Rascals for the purposes of this story.  
  
Victor Creed, Senior Rascal, just grunted and headed back to his room, where he realized that Mystique would be coming, and he consequently began to hit his head on the metal walls.  
  
Piotr Rasputin, who WAS the Iron Man, don't listen to what Ozzy'll try to tell you on that count, just nodded briskly, then headed back up the stairs to make sure his crew cut was still perfectly in place.  
  
St. John Alderdyce, who was sick and tired of the St. John's Wort's jokes he'd been cruelly subjected to since his admittance to the exclusive Rascals, just nodded and headed back to the basement, where he was secretly plotting a plan of world dominance that he would implement as soon as Magneto completed the first stages.  
  
Remy LeBeau asked cautiously, " Are there any femmes in the Brotherhood?"  
  
Magneto glared, and said, "Just my daughter."  
  
"Oh well then." Remy replied, and went upstairs to call Belle. Probably it was a good thing that there weren't any femmes because Bella Donna Bordreaux was a very, very scary woman, and he dared not cross her in any shape, form, or fashion.  
  
That left pitiful little Pietro standing in front of his Almighty Father. "W-w-w-wanda'll be here? Here? As in our home? Eating dinner?"  
  
Magneto nodded.  
  
"I wouldn't let her anywhere near the kitchen. No telling what she might do to the food, poison it most likely, not to mention all the sharp things in there, like knives and forks and cheese graters..."  
  
"Cheese graters, Pietro?" asked Magneto with a theatrically perplexed face.  
  
"Those things are wicked." came the reply as Pietro hurried to his room.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
  
~Persephone 


	2. Of Avalanches and Bricks

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: First off, thanks to Red Witch, Eileen, todd fan, and Yelhsa D for your reviews! As always, I love hearing any feedback. Addressing the continuity of this fic, I don't actually think there is any. I have, due to the sleeping habits of a college student, missed most of season 3, so I just put all my favorites in where I want them, and like them the most. *shrugs* It works in my mind.  
  
Chapter Two: Of Avalanches and Bricks  
  
  
  
The next day:  
  
"Here we are." Announced Mystique as the Brotherhood, plus one, collected in front of a large metal dome in the countryside surrounding Bayville with a scrolling marquis that read:  
  
Magneto's Super-Secret, Hidden, Very Evil, No Good, Very Bad Lair, Welcome Guests, Dinner will be served at precisely 6:00 p.m.  
  
Fred glanced at his watch. It was 7:45. Mystique didn't seem at all worried, though. She actually looked thankful to have arrived at all. The trip there had been, well, interesting, to say the least.  
  
The entire Brotherhood had climbed into Mystique's Avalanche, and they had actually all fit. Lance, however, had pitched a first class hissy fit when he'd set eyes on Mystique's hulking black SUV, and clamored on about how unfair it was that Mystique drove an Avalanche. What was HIS code name, after all? Why couldn't Mystique drive a Mystique? They were nice, reliable ( for the most part) automobiles. She could even get a blue one. But noooo. She had to drive an Avalanche.  
  
It had been about that point of the rant that Wanda had hit Lance with a rolled up newspaper. Lance had been knocked out. Maybe the brick the paper had been rolled around had something to do with that, but Fred couldn't be sure.  
  
They had been cruising along out of Bayville when Todd screamed, "PULL OVER!"  
  
Mystique was startled into doing just this, and Todd leapt out of the SUV to...  
  
Hug a hitchhiker?  
  
But, Fred realized, it wasn't just ANY hitchhiker. No sirree, this was a special hitchhiker. It was Charlie!  
  
"Come on," he heard Todd tell Charlie before leading the scruffy man to the SUV and climbing in.  
  
Mystique looked aghast, and Wanda was picking up her rolled up newspaper.  
  
"Howdy-e-doo." Charlie said, tipping his sombrero.  
  
"Where'd you get the sombrero?" asked Fred, staring with open curiosity at the giant purple and gold monstrosity that sat atop Charlie's lank brown hair.  
  
"Eckle Bertstinelow." replied Charlie.  
  
"Who is this?" Mystique asked in a low, dangerous voice.  
  
"Shall I hit him?" Wanda inquired the fuming shapeshifter.  
  
"No!" cried Todd. "He's our friend! Well, sorta."  
  
"He did threaten to kill me once." mused Fred.  
  
"But he's still a good guy!" Lance said to Charlie's defense. Mystique looked very, very confused. Charlie sat there, playing with the glow-in- the-dark plastic skeleton that he wore around his neck, muttering under his breath about orange blossoms and dung beetles.  
  
"Who is he?" Mystique asked again, slightly more upset than she had been before.  
  
"Charlie." answered Fred, Todd, and Lance simultaneously.  
  
"Oh. Of course." said Mystique sarcastically. Wanda, who had set her rolled up newspaper down, picked it back up, and began to hit it to her hand, looking for all the world like a thug backing up her gang leader. Which, of course, was exactly what she was.  
  
Fred finally realized that no one had bothered to tell Mystique of their grand adventure, which can be found by the title of Tales from the Road, by Persephone, if one truly wishes to discover the circumstance of the first meeting with Charlie, as well as the identity of Bob Marley and Robbie. However, in the likely case that a brief summary is desired here, Charlie met the Brotherhood while hitchhiking, insulted and befriended Victor Creed, and had nice time with them, despite his eccentricies. Charlie was last seen standing on the roadside after being kicked out due to Mr. Creed's worries that Charlie may interfere with his chances of getting a photo with Ozzy Osborne.  
  
After hearing the tale, Mystique simply shook her head, and agreed to allow Charlie to accompany them to the grand dinner with Magneto for no reason other than that it sounded like Victor might not enjoy the company of the strange man under Magneto's strict guidance. Magneto, she had learned, disapproved of any sort of spontaneous actions on the part of his thugs.  
  
So, with the new addition to the group stuck inside the SUV, which was beginning to get a wee bit crowded, they started off towards Magneto's lair. They cruised through the streets of Bayville. And they cruised some more. And they cruised even more.  
  
It was when they had passed the Krispy Creme on Duncan Street for the third time that Fred began to think that they may be lost. He glanced to the driver's seat, where Mystique clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles had turned a translucent shade of white.  
  
She had, of course, taken her "Raven Darkholme, professional lady" appearance for the ride over, as to not alarm any other denizens of the roadways, or would-be carjackers. Mystique had a .45 in her purse. She had mentioned several times over the course of her mentoring the young mutants that one of her fondest wishes would be to use the handgun against an uneducated, inexperienced thug to show them how it was really done.  
  
Unfortunately, Mystique had failed to realize thus far that her principal- like appearance in her Raven form automatically deterred any would-be attackers. Many "inexperienced thugs" still experience panic attacks when faced with school authorities, mostly due to the ungodly hours they had spent in detention until giving up and taking the easier route out.  
  
However, in the tried and true tradition of Murphy's Law, today was Mystique's lucky day. They, due to the retelling of Charlie's story, were Running Behind. In other words, they were Late! Late! For a very important date!  
  
After the third consecutive left turn, Lance cautiously spoke up. "Are we, you know..."  
  
Mystique growled in a tone the Sabretooth would be envious of. "No, I don't know. What?"  
  
"I think he's trying to ask if we're lost." Todd said guilelessly. Poor, poor innocent Toad.  
  
Mystique gripped the steering wheel even harder, and Fred marveled at the fact that the slim wheel did not bend under the stress Mystique was putting it under.  
  
"We are NOT LOST!" Mystique snapped at the young mutant as they pulled up to a red light.  
  
"Yeah, right." Todd muttered. Luckily, Mystique was too distracted by a ski masked man tapping on her window to hear this comment.  
  
All in all, it was a small wonder that the man did not immediately run when Mystique rolled down the mirror-tinted window and smiled ferally in his direction. It was another wonder that he did not turn tail when Charlie leaned around her, still in the giant purple and gold sombrero, and giggled fiendishly. In the back seat, Wanda picked up her newspaper.  
  
"Uhh... GET OUTTA THE CAR!" the man shrieked, voice pitched high from fear. He pointed his gun at Mystique.  
  
"Just one moment." she said, and leaned over to rummage in her purse.  
  
"Now, lady!" The man was shifting from foot to foot and looking around nervously. He'd only done this twice before, after all, and they had gone much quicker than this. Of course, the Pinto's owner had handed him the keys, while the other 'victim' had offered to run his Pacer through the car wash for him. The woman in the driver's seat, who looked disturbingly similar to his parole officer, smiled, and pulled a .45 out of her purse. The man stared down the barrel with a strangely blank eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen outside the city or Louisiana. The carjack-ees were not supposed to be armed. It was just wrong.  
  
He realized that the hand holding his gun had fell to his side, leaving him defenseless to the woman in the SUV. He had two choices. Shoot or run.  
  
After another long moment staring down the barrel, he chose to do both. He took a wild shot at the car, and then turned and ran, waving his gun around, and taking random shots. He thought that he heard a cry out, but that was lost in the blazing red haze of pain he suddenly found himself in.  
  
He fell to the ground, and the world went black.  
  
Back in the Avalanche, Mystique smiled, and dropped the gun back in her purse. She had hit that would-be carjacker right in the knee. Served the little cretin right.  
  
"Ow..."  
  
This plaintive moan caught Mystique's attention. She turned around, and was completely caught off guard by what she saw.  
  
(Big dramatic noise)  
  
To Be Continued....  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Continued...  
  
Todd lay splayed across the back seat, clutching his head. He moaned pitifully. Mystique glared at the young mutant.  
  
"I'm injured! I need first aid! Or maybe mouth to mouth..." He trailed off, giving Wanda a sideways glance. She glared at him in the same manner anyone else would glare at doggy doo doo on the bottom of their shoes.  
  
"What happened?" Mystique demanded. Look away long enough to shoot one lousy thug, and look what happens. Todd ends up wailing in pain, though she wasn't yet sure what was actually wrong with the boy.  
  
"Wanda hit him with her brick." Fred finally replied, after sensing that no one else was willing to explain the events.  
  
"Why would she do that?" Mystique's tone meant that Wanda had better have a good reason.  
  
"His tongue touched my hand. It was disgusting." Wanda replied, shuddering with revulsion.  
  
"But that wasn't until after..." Lance caught himself mid-snitch, and stopped talking abruptly. He glanced quickly at the other occupants of the back seat, and was rewarded with a death glare from Wanda that promised that he would pay for this slip.  
  
"After what?" Mystique was almost positive that she did not want to know.  
  
"After Wanda freaked out." Todd answered this time. "She didn't like Bob Marley."  
  
"I couldn't help it! That thing is creepy! It was watching me, I know it!" Wanda defended herself fervently. Mystique noticed the girl shiver as she glanced up at Charlie. Weird. She never would have figured the girl as an ophidiophobic.  
  
"But how did that lead to Todd licking your hand?" Why had she asked? She already knew where this would lead. It would lead to another vague answer that would stir her curiosity just enough to ask another pointless question. And did she just pass the Krispy Creme for the fifth time? Bayville was not big enough to get lost in! Especially not after living here, off and on, for a year!  
  
"He tried to push Bob Marley back with his tongue, but missed and hit Wanda's hand instead. Then, she got mad and hit him upside the head with her brick." Fred, bless his big, simple soul, had finally given a complete answer. She made a mental note to not notice him sneaking food out of All- You-Can-Eat buffet next time.  
  
"Why does the pretty girl have a brick?" Charlie asked, turning around in his seat to get a better look at the kids.  
  
Wanda glared at him, and said, "You never know."  
  
Charlie nodded, accepted this response, and turned back around.  
  
"Lance, make sure Todd isn't going to die or anything." Mystique commanded, then turned her attention back to the road. Was she supposed to turn left, or right?  
  
"Straight." Charlie said. Mystique gave him a sharp glance. He noticed, and responded, "People tend to get lost a lot when I'm in the car."  
  
Mystique took the comment at face value, though she had to wonder if it was some kind of mutant power. It was a sucky one, inducing a bad sense of direction, but no worse than some that she'd heard in the past.  
  
Lance called from the back seat, "Todd's fine, he's just got a new lump on his head. He's been moaning over nothing."  
  
"It hurts! Why don't I hit YOU with a brick and see how much you like it!" Todd retorted.  
  
"Shut UP! I'm trying to memorize the way there!" Wanda screeched.  
  
"I'm hungry." Fred bemoaned.  
  
"There once was a monk..." Charlie started to sing.  
  
And so they were on their way yet again. They arrived. They collected in front of the large metal dome, read the scrolling marquis, and reflected on the journey there.  
  
  
  
**** Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
  
~Persephone 


	3. Of Linen and Gumbo

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: First of all, thanks to Goldylokz, Alison Sky, Red Witch, Eileen, DragonBlond, and todd fan. Reviews make me a happy kitten. I'm glad no one was put off by my bringing my OC Charlie into the story. He doesn't make an appearance in this chapter, alas, but he does make quite the impression on Magneto in the next one :) Before you read this chapter, I should mention that I know absolutely nothing about fine fabrics. I just kind of made it up as I went along. So, without any further ado...  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Of Linen and Gumbo  
  
  
  
Magneto's Lair: 5:30  
  
After the news of the dinner had been broken, and after the Rascals fled to their respective hiding places, Magneto stalked back and forth in his large hall. This hall was used for strategic planning, group meetings, and he also had a nifty throne in the corner that he sat on when no one else was in here. He kept it covered with a blue plastic tarp the rest of the time.  
  
This dinner needed to go well. That was all there was to it. He'd noticed a lack of respect for the Cause, as well as for his superiority, amongst the minions lately, and he hoped that by bringing them all together, and giving the special speech he had written, they might be more prepared to go along with his plans. He needed to show the young ones that he thought they were real people, not just kids, so that when they did eventually become powerful, influential mutants rather than the hormonal, insecure teenagers they were today, they would still be willing to follow him.  
  
He also had a plan for winning over Wanda using cookie dough ice cream.  
  
He continued to pace, back and forth across the room, before giving in to temptation, and sitting in his throne. It was metal, like everything else in the large hall. Magneto had considered upholstering the bare metal furniture. He had even taken a trip to the fabric store.  
  
Wilma's Cloth was the name of the particular establishment he had visited. He had been there a few times before to pick out material for his costume and his cape, which he was proud to say he had sewn all by himself. This time, just like the last times, the woman at the counter had immediately sensed his overwhelmed state almost as soon as he got in the door.  
  
"Hello, dear, I'm Gertrude." The tiny woman had introduced herself. She was all of five feet tall, and could not have weighed ninety pounds even if she wore chain mail. She looked about four hundred, and was very wrinkled. Her thin white hair was cut short, and she had a purple streak in it just behind her left ear. "Hi, Gertrude. I am Erik." It didn't hurt to be polite to your elders. He stared at the purple streak for another minute. It matched her jumpsuit.  
  
Gertrude, through the virtues of observation, and the fact that she wasn't yet blind, noticed that Erik was staring at her hair. She briefly wondered why, then remembered with a start the purple streak.  
  
"My granddaughter got a hold of my wig with a marker." Gertrude said pointedly, wishing that somebody would just ask about the purple, rather than stare at her like she was a freak.  
  
"Oh." Erik seemed disappointed with this explanation.  
  
"Can I help you in some way?" Gertrude asked pointedly, motioning around the fabric store. Row upon row of colored cloth in every shade, texture, and pattern were lined up in a seemingly mismatched fashion, but Gertrude knew where everything was. She'd been working here since 1954, after all, before most of these newfangled fabrics, like polyester and nylon, and that horrid spandex, had even been invented.  
  
"I need to upholster my furniture." Erik answered, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the hundreds of possibilities.  
  
"I see." Gertrude replied. Why did she always end up with the difficult ones? "What type of fabric were you considering?"  
  
Erik looked stumped. "Uh..."  
  
Gertrude sighed. "Cheap or expensive?" Okay, that might not have been as delicately worded as she might have done, but it worked. She worked for commission, too, after all.  
  
"Expensive."  
  
She led him to the finer fabrics in the store. She showed him several options, and many different colors and designs, but the man seemed indecisive.  
  
"I don't know..." He'd said, holding a bolt of fine beige cashmere. It doesn't have much...class."  
  
Gertrude managed to not scream. What in the world had more class than beige cashmere? She showed him the finest linen the store possessed, and then moved on to the Egyptian cotton. Still no approval from the man. She was looking through the back room for some new swatches of imported Chinese silk when she hear a cry. "Eureka!"  
  
She ran back out into the outer shop to see what had finally caught the man's eye as "classy." She stared in shock.  
  
Erik had chosen a bolt of shiny, metallic silver polyester.  
  
Gertrude felt like banging her head against the wall.  
  
"Are you quite sure that... that is what you want?" She finally ventures, still aghast that he had turned down the finest cloth in the store for a bolt of $3.99 a yard silver material.  
  
"Quite. I also believe that I will take some of this." Erik replied, pulling another bolt of fabric from the rack.  
  
Gertrude stared. It was purple.  
  
Not just a nice, lilac purple. Not even a rich plum color. This shade of purple was that alarming shade of Barbie-purple that practically glowed in the dark. The only thing that the purple cloth had over the silver was the fact that it was a nice cotton blend, rather than the shimmering metallic silver.  
  
Gertrude also noticed that this cloth was also on the sale rack. A dollar a yard. How was it that the ones willing to pay a lot still bought out of the bargain bin? Was it some sort of cruel joke? She was old, darn it! She deserved to get paid well, and this little demented tightwad was determined to keep her in the poor house.  
  
She glared up at the man. She was a mother of four, grandmother of seven. She knew how to glare. Erik quailed under her scrutiny, and shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Um... What do you think?" He asked cautiously.  
  
"I," Gertrude began, "Think that I just spent the last half hour looking at the most expensive materials in the store. I think that you decided that you wanted classy furniture. I think that you had best get back over there, pick up that bolt of cashmere, and perhaps think on buying some of the new imported Chinese silk, because I work on a commission. NOW!"  
  
Erik scurried to the discarded bolt of beige cashmere, and picked up a bolt of Chinese silk. He then made his way to the cash register, and meekly held out his charge card. Gertrude stood there, and rang up his purchases. She then swiped his platinum card, knocking him back a considerable sum, and handed him his bag.  
  
"Thank you, have a good day!" She said pleasantly, and a mollified Magneto left the fabric store.  
  
"Boss?"  
  
Magneto visibly jumped, and looked at the speaker. It was Creed.  
  
"What? What do you want?" Snapped Magneto, embarrassed to caught in his throne, pondering fabric sales. Though Creed had no way of knowing that he was pondering fabric sales. Probably Creed thought that he was pondering how to take over the world in eight easy steps. He suddenly realized that Creed was speaking.  
  
"You told me to tell you when it was almost six?" Vic was trying his best not to laugh. Magneto was looking around, all paranoid-like, and acting all skittish. Undoubtedly he was embarrassed to be caught in his Evil Throne. Or maybe he'd been thinking back to his unfortunate fabric store adventure.  
  
Vic chuckled to himself, recalling the look on Old Mag's face when he got told off by that little old lady. Bless that little brat Pietro and that video camera he had stolen from somewhere or another. Copies of the escapade were meant to be sent out to every evil villain in the world, as well as Xavier, in the case that Magneto ever got too full of himself. Of course, only Mystique and himself knew about that particular plan.  
  
Magneto looked like he'd bit into something especially sour as the huge feral in front of him chuckled suddenly to himself for the second time in two minutes. Hopefully he was just planning some sort of evil prank for the dinner.  
  
Then Magneto realized that it was almost time for the dinner, and said, 'Let's go. It's almost time."  
  
He swept off his throne, grabbed his helmet because Wanda was coming, and marched out into the hall. Creed followed, and they made their way to the dinning room to be joined with the remaining members of the Rascals.  
  
  
  
A Little While Before:  
  
In the large, stainless steel, industrial-looking kitchen of the Lair of Magneto, a fight of possibly colossal proportions was mounting. The two Rascals who had taken it upon themselves to help cook for the horrid affair which was to take place that evening had reached a cultural deadlock.  
  
"No! We are not having gumbo!" Poitr Rasputin declared. He was the Iron Man. He could declare anything he wanted. His word was Law.  
  
The fact that something had been declared, and was Law, however, had no effect on Remy LeBeau, rule-breaker extra ordinaire.  
  
"I'm making gumbo and you'll eat it!" He avowed.  
  
Poitr glared at Remy.  
  
Remy glared at Poitr.  
  
And so they stood for fifteen minutes, until Pietro came whizzing into the kitchen.  
  
"It's time! Where's the side dishes?"  
  
Poitr and Remy both turned to the speed demon, and began to rant in Russian and French, respectively.  
  
Pietro decided that it would be simplest to simply whip up something simple. Two minutes later, the table was set, the food was done, and the Rascals were crowded around the large table. Well, maybe not crowded, as the table was, as aforementioned, large, and there was room left for the Brotherhood, who by the way had more female members than the Rascals, and why were they called the Rascals, and not something cool like the Annihilators? Anyways, they sat around the table.  
  
And so they sat.  
  
And they sat.  
  
And they sat.  
  
The big hand on the clock ticked its precious way all the way around the clock, and still they sat.  
  
And they sat.  
  
And they sat.  
  
Victor was staring at the food on the table with something akin to raw lust in his eyes, and Pietro looked like he was ready pass out from hunger. Remy was fine due to the fact that he was using his finely honed thieving skills to steal himself rolls, peas, corn, and even a teeny tiny piece of the great big honey ham that sat in the center of the table. St. John had a glazed look to his eyes, and Poitr had gotten hold of two bread sticks, and they were being treated to the constant drumming of "Iron Man" on the table.  
  
Magneto just looked like he had a migraine.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
Reviews are greatly appreciated.  
  
~Persephone 


	4. Of Frozen Pork and Helmets

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Carper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: Thanks to Red Witch, Eileen, the Desert Fox, todd fan, and Kelly for your wonderful reviews! As always, they make me a happy bunny. By the way, Desert Fox, the name Rascals did come from Spanky and the Little Rascals. I kind of think of Remy as AlfAlfa... I meant to get this out a little sooner, I've been aiming for a chapter a week, and this one is a day late. Mainly because I've just started spring term, and am at present being overwhelmed with knowledge of Islam and the Old Testament...And I'm not even a religions major. I'm going to quit rambling on now, sorry about that.  
  
So! On with the chapter!  
  
Chapter Four: Of Frozen Pork and Helmets  
  
Finally, finally, 7:45 rolled around, and with that illustrious hour the doorbell rang, because, as I'm sure you all remember, the Brotherhood was standing outside.  
  
Magneto went to open the door himself. Most likely, he had gotten bored sitting in the same position for an hour and forty-five minutes, but he preferred to think that he was doing his host duties.  
  
To Magneto's credit, he only blinked twice and opened his mouth agape four times when he opened the door and saw Charlie, in his giant sombrero, standing on the doorstep holding Bob Marley and singing a little ditty about a monk. (This ditty in limerick form can be viewed, coincidently, on this very website, under the title The Monk, by Persephone.)  
  
Mystique pushed past both Charlie and Magneto, flopped in a chair at the dining table, and requested a strong drink. The Rascals, to their credit, acted as if this was usual. Although, perhaps it was. The rest of the Brotherhood followed suit, though they did not receive strong drinks, for which they were sorely disappointed.  
  
Charlie stopped singing, stuck out the hand that wasn't holding Bob Marley, and announced, "I have come to eat your food."  
  
Magneto glared like a spoiled three year old. "You weren't invited."  
  
Charlie stared at the helmeted mutant for several long minutes. Time stretched out, and stretched further still, and was finally at time's elastic end when Magneto yelled out, "Fine! You're invited!"  
  
"Why, thank you, Mr..."  
  
"I am Magneto. I will someday unite all mutants under my guidance, and we will overpower the weak humans, and I will rule the world." Magneto said in a booming, super-supervillian voice.  
  
"Oh. So you want to be like Hitler." Charlie said, smiling, as he pushed into the Evil Lair.  
  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Magneto shrieked (in the most dignified way possible, of course.)  
  
The Brotherhood and the Rascals stared aghast (Isn't "aghast" quite possible the coolest word in the English language? Nowhere near as cool as nefarious, of course, but still. Aghast is waaaaaay up there on the cool word meter. Opposed to words like ginger or tomorrow. Aghast has style. I'm just going to have to start this paragraph over now.)  
  
The Brotherhood and the Rascals stared aghast as Magneto stormed into the dining room, following a scruffy looking man in denim and flannel wearing a large sombrero, screaming at the top of his lungs like a little girl about how few things he had in common with Adolf Hitler.  
  
I daresay you'd stare aghast, also, when faced with such a sight.  
  
Charlie, however, was not phased by the maniacal madman's ranting and raving, and instead sat down at the large dining room table across from Victor, who greeted Charlie like an old friend. Which I suppose he was.  
  
"What are you going on about?" Mystique asked Magneto finally, when the helmeted man finally took a breather from his rant.  
  
"HE," Magneto said, pointing a shaking finger at Charlie, "had the gall to accuse me of wanting to be like Hitler!"  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
The Brotherhood and Rascals looked at one another, until finally someone got up the nerve to speak.  
  
"Um, don't you?" Pietro asked meekly.  
  
"NO!" boomed Magneto. "I am the concentration camp survivor! Remember? I hate Hitler and all he stands for!"  
  
There was another long pause as every member of the mutant brigade carefully weighed this revelation, and came up to their own personal conclusion about what it meant to them, and how it affected their perception of Magneto as an individual.  
  
They all, however, came to the same conclusion.  
  
"Hypocrite." announced Wanda. Everyone else in the room breathed a sigh of relief when they realized they hadn't been the one to speak.  
  
So with that, Magneto leapt towards Wanda, face screwed up in absolute fury, while Wanda smiled ferally and raised her hands up slowly, preparing to hex the heck out of her father. However, she found this unnecessary when Magneto, during his leap of fury, had caught his toe in his cape, and had fallen in a rather undignified heap at her feet. She settled for a good, swift kick in the stomach, and then sat at the table with a innocent, sweet expression on her face.  
  
Everyone else, however, was clutching their sides as gales of laughter racked their bodies, with Pietro even managing to roll on the floor in laughter before speedily offering to help Magneto up.  
  
Magneto just glared and stood with all the dignity he could muster, which wasn't all that much, considering the fact that he'd bumped is nose on the way down and it was now bright red and swollen, a la Marcia Brady. Fortunately for him, his helmet covered the injury from prying eyes.  
  
Finally, Magneto took his seat at the head of the large dining room table, and they began to help themselves to the food. Magneto lifted the first spoonful of mashed potatoes to his mouth, where the spoon collided with his helmet with a loud clank.  
  
Everyone turned to stare, even Victor, who had a chicken leg crammed in his mouth, and Fred, who was well into his second helping of broccoli casserole. They immediately began to laugh uproariously at the sight of the mighty Magneto with mashed potatoes splattered across his helmet.  
  
Magneto glared, though it was, as always, rather ineffective with the helmet, and started to remove the offending headdress. He remembered only too late the reason why he had left it on, as the entire combined teams of bad guys got to see his puffy red nose. And, unluckily for him, they all knew exactly how he had gotten it, said falling incident only occurring a few seconds before, so there were no brave-battle-against-Charles stories that would cut it.  
  
He was a laughingstock.  
  
Mystique could not remember a time when she had laughed this hard. Magneto had managed to make a complete fool of himself so many times in the last half hour she had lost count. She sniggered into her gin as she caught a glimpse of Maggie's poofed up nose through his hands, which were clasped over his face like an embarrassed thirteen year old girl with her first pimple.  
  
She glanced at her kids, as she tended to think of them. Lance was having a difficult time staying in his chair as he watched Pietro rush back and forth with every remedy he could find, from an ice pack to a frozen pork chop. Wanda, of course, was in seventh heaven, and was cackling gleefully and calling out suggestions which, for the most part, earned her glares from her father and snickers from everyone else. Todd and Fred were using this golden opportunity to fill a bag with all the chicken and sides they could fit, then try to figure out a good place to hide the froggy-bag.  
  
The Rascals, with the exception, as always, of Pietro, and strangely enough, Piotr, who was missing, were rolling with laughter at their boss's misfortune.  
  
Charlie just chortled to himself for a little bit, wondering what the Hitler-wannabe would say if he knew he had mashed potatoes on the tip of his nose now, and curious of where Bob Marley had gotten off to. He thought that he'd been in his shirt pocket, but he wasn't there...  
  
Oh well, he couldn't have gotten far, now could he?  
  
A scream suddenly echoed from the kitchen.  
  
****  
  
Reviews are greatly appreciated.  
  
~Persephone 


	5. Of Gallantry and Terror

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: A million thanks to happymaximus, todd fan (There are dictionaries for words that haven't been invented yet? That is the coolest thing I've heard all week, wow.) Alison Sky, Eileen, and Red Witch. I'm always thrilled with any response. Wow...this chapter just wanted to get out. Considering that I've been on a Harry Potter fanfic writing binge lately, I was worried that I wouldn't get this one written anytime soon. But here it is, several days early. Well, on with the show....  
  
Chapter Five:  
  
Of Gallantry and Terror  
  
***  
  
Everybody looked up at the sound of the scream. Most managed to stop laughing as they looked around the table at each other, confused.  
  
"Who was that?" slurred Mystique, who was now on her fifth drink, and well on her way to being completely besotted.  
  
Everyone looked around the table again, trying to figure out who was missing. Well, to be completely accurate, Mystique surveyed the table through the bottom of her glass, Wanda inspected her nails, Lance was slipping silverware into his jacket pocket, Todd was eyeing an unsuspecting fly that buzzed overhead, and Fred was eating some more of the ham. Remy was making a bet with St John about how much more Mystique could drink before either starting to sing rowdy Irish drinking songs or passing out, while Pietro was cowering near Magneto, trying his best to calm down his currently enraged father. Vic was looking at the door with longing.  
  
Charlie looked around the room. Another scream echoed from the kitchen, but this time everyone was so very busy trying to figure out who was gone that no one noticed the second bloodcurdling cry.  
  
He waited a few more minutes, figuring that the others would react eventually to the second scream, since the first one had managed to calm everyone down from the hysterical laughter that everyone had been previously been indulging in at Magneto's expense. It finally became apparent that no one here was willing to make an effort to see who was missing.  
  
"That butch boy isn't in here," Charlie finally ventured. He had noticed the boy leaving because that had been preempted by the boy finally ceasing his incessant drumming of "Iron Man." Now, Charlie was a known Black Sabbath fan, and had once even met the Oz Man himself, though that meeting had been cut short due to the pesky interference of the Los Angeles Police Department.  
  
"Huh?" Magneto, who was still sulking, asked, looking up from his plate, where he had been swirling his mashed potatoes.  
  
"The butch boy," began Charlie patiently. "He isn't in here."  
  
The rest of the mutants slowly looked up, and glanced around the table, and then slowly nodded in agreement.  
  
"He is gone," Pietro said.  
  
"Who?" Magneto asked, surveying the table. "Oh! Poitr!"  
  
"Give him a cookie," muttered Mystique, who was glaring at everyone. Charlie thought that she must be an angry drunk, though after watching her shoot a innocent little car jacker that wasn't really surprising news.  
  
"Should we go and see why he screamed?" Magneto asked, reaching for his helmet, flinching as the helmet brushed against his very swollen nose. He seemed excited at the prospect of violence. After all, why would a mutant such as Colossus scream at anything less than the most horrible of situations? The boy could turn himself into solid metal, nothing could really harm him.  
  
Well, Magneto thought wryly, I could. And St John could, theoretically, melt the metal boy. And Wanda could hurt anyone. And...  
  
He decided to cut off that strain of thoughts before he had catalogued the mutant abilities of everyone at the table. Poitr was, after all, in mortal danger. Though it was curious that mortal danger had befallen him while inside the secure base that Magneto had monitored for any sort of strange activity whatsoever for the majority of the time. And in the kitchen at that, judging from the location of the sound of the scream that had just echoed through the dining room.  
  
Magneto rose gallantly, preparing to charge into the kitchen and show whoever had dared to invade his territory who was boss around here.  
  
Everyone else rose also, curious as to what Magneto could possibly do to himself this time.  
  
However, all this rising and gallantry was in vain. Poitr came running into the dinning rom from the direction of the kitchen. He looked terrified, with his short hair sticking up in clumps. Piotr screeched to a stop in front of Magneto, and yelped, "It's horrible!"  
  
Poitr, once stopped, looked even worse. Not only was his hair doing a Don King impression, despite being rather short, but his hands were shaking, his eyes were unnaturally wide, and he was as pale as a ghost. All in all, it looked like he had just watched his own death, and knew that it was right around the next bend.  
  
"Are you alright?" Todd asked, a look of concern on his greenish features.  
  
"NO!" yelled Poitr. He was now bouncing from foot to foot, looking extremely anxious. He kept glancing furtively back in the direction of the kitchen, presumably due to paranoia of being followed. "It's back there! It's horrible!"  
  
"So you claim," said Mystique, raising an eyebrow. She might even have been able to pull of the sardonic act had she not tried to take a step forward, stumbled, and fell heavily into the table at that instant. She managed to fall into the closest chair, and she scrambled to her glass, knocking it over and spilling its contents across the table. Of course, its contents consisted of only a tiny puddle of whiskey, which covered about a full square inch of the table. Mystique, though, seemed to mourn the loss.  
  
Mourn meaning, of course, that she immediately filled the glass back up, all the way to the rim. She sloshed the whiskey over the edge as her unsteady hands lifted it to her lips. She muttered to herself as she finished off this glass, and laid her head down on the table, mumbling about wanting to take just a little nap.  
  
Heavy snores started up almost immediately.  
  
The members of the Brotherhood and the Rascals had watched this with fascination. It was always completely odd watching a mentor do something completely un-mentor like, and Mystique had just done this beautifully. After all, the adults weren't the ones who were supposed to get completely smashed and pass out in random locations, like their boss's dining room table. That was supposed to be the job of the bad, rebellious teenagers, darn it!  
  
Magneto and Vic, both having spent time in Mystique's company before, found nothing odd about her current behavior. In fact, passed out was the preferred state of Mystique's consciousness for both of them. She was just so much more pleasant, and less likely to hurt you.  
  
Not that Magneto or Vic were afraid of the blue woman.  
  
It was just that she was a little on the violent side.  
  
Everyone now turned their attention back on Poitr, who was still shaking and terrified looking.  
  
"What is it in the kitchen?" Magneto inquired of his young student in the nefarious ways of villainy.  
  
Poitr shook with fear. "A slimy, gross..."  
  
Pietro interrupted, "No, that's just Todd."  
  
Wanda actually snickered.  
  
Poitr glared at the twins, and then continued. "It was this huge, disgusting, horrible snake!"  
  
"A snake?" Wanda asked, a horrified expression dawning across her features.  
  
"Yes! A huge one! And probably poisonous!" Piotr was in a panic now. The Iron Man had nearly been eaten by the horrific, slimy snake! The horror! Oh, the horror!  
  
"A snake." Lance said, not impressed.  
  
"Yeah! It was bad, man, horrible!" Poitr said, still panicked, though fear was in second place for dominant emotion.  
  
"Was it like an anaconda or a cobra or something like that?" Fred asked, trying to figure out why this supposedly strong mutant was afraid of a snake.  
  
"I don't know!" yelled Poitr. "It was horrible! I jumped up on the kitchen chair, where it couldn't get me. Then, when it was distracted by my scre- I mean, when I bravely yelled at it to be gone, I jumped down and came into here."  
  
"Oh," Fred said. "So you screamed like a little girl, then fled from the face of danger."  
  
"Basically," said the still-pale mutant.  
  
Magneto finally decided to take charge. "Let's go see this supposed 'snake'"  
  
He swept into the kitchen, doing a very impressive cape swirl when he passed through the doorway. Nearly everyone also trooped to the kitchen behind him to see this horrible creature that had brought the Russian nearly to tears. Wanda followed the crowd very reluctantly. Her only reason for going in the same room as a snake was to prove to the others that she was in no way afraid of a creepy, legless reptile.  
  
Piotr chose to remain in the dining room, claiming that he was too young to die at the fangs of a serpent of the likes of that one.  
  
Mystique elected to stay, and continued to hold up the table back in the dining room. Being as she was completely unconscious, and all.  
  
In the kitchen itself, Magneto looked around the room nervously, though he tried his best to hide his apprehension. He was, after all, extremely ophidiophobic.  
  
There was no thirteen foot anaconda lying on the kitchen floor.  
  
Magneto breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn't have to deal with a horrible snake, after all. That was good, because those creepy little critters were frightful. Not that he was afraid.  
  
A tiny slithering sound suddenly reached his ears.  
  
"Aaagh!" Magneto shrieked, seeing the dreaded creature. He leapt up on a chair, hoping that the evil beast did not spot him.  
  
"Aaagh!" shrieked Wanda, seeing the foul being. She jumped onto another chair, hoping that the vile fiend would not see her.  
  
Everyone else looked at their terrified leader and his terrifying daughter, both standing on chairs and staring at the snake in terror. It was an utterly discombobulating sight.  
  
The tiny garden snake was undisturbed by the racked, and stayed in its curled up position next to the stove, fast asleep.  
  
"Bob Marley!" cheered Charlie, scooping up his best friend, "I missed you, I surely did. No waking the dead, no peace for the living."  
  
  
  
**** Reviews are greatly appreciated.  
  
~Persephone 


	6. Of Cookie Dough Ice Cream

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: A huge thank you to all of you who reviewed! I really, really appreciate it. Have some cookie dough ice cream. :) No, the story's not quite over yet. I figure there are one or two chapters left. Of course, I also thought the whole story would be two or three chapters, so that shows what all I know.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
Of Cookie Dough Ice Cream  
  
  
  
A few minutes later, Charlie was still rocking next to the stove, hugging the snake named Bob Marley. Well, his actually position was more of a cradling, due to the fact that it is quite difficult to mutually hug a snake. The whole no arms or discernable limbs period thing kind of became an issue.  
  
He eventually got up, still cradling the snake, and headed into the dining room. All the remaining kiddos watched him, and wondered if it was safe to also go into the dining room. On one hand, the crazy hitchhiker with the snake was in there, probably singing a lullaby to the reptile, if his humming during his exit was any indication. On the other hand, staying in here meant a better chance of being on the receiving end of Wanda's wrath.  
  
The collective members of the Brotherhood and Rascals began to follow Charlie's lead and exit the kitchen. Most, as soon as they got out of the kitchen proper, began to snicker to themselves over Magneto. They now practically had a full arsenal of material for the inevitable group mocking sessions. Todd thought that he would be able to do an admirable job of recreating Magneto's leap into the air and onto the chair after he had seen the snake.  
  
None of them were planning on mocking Wanda for her identical reaction, though. While Magneto might be one of the oldest, therefore most experienced, as well as one of the more powerful mutants on the planet, his wrath was nothing to be feared when compared to his daughters. This may have something to do with the fact that the younger generation of 'bad' mutants saw Magneto as a mentor, and normally refined individual. On the other hand, they saw Wanda as a moody, psychotic, and most importantly, angry individual. She was, therefore, much more likely to hurt or maim one of her teammates.  
  
As the straggling St. John meandered out of the kitchen, Magneto climbed down off his chair, and scowled at his daughter, who had just hopped gracefully to the floor.  
  
"Well?" he said.  
  
"Well what?" Wanda asked, confused at the rather random question.  
  
"I know you're going to have some snide comment to say about the last five minutes. Come on. Give me your worst." Magneto snapped.  
  
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Wanda replied, giving her best innocent look. It wasn't very. She made a valiant attempt, though.  
  
"Yes, you very well do!" Magneto yelled. He was turning a rather unattractive shade of red which clashed horribly with the vibrant purple his swollen nose had turned. He raised his arms up, and almost began to yell out a rant to be reckoned with, but regained his sense of self at the last possible moment. He lowered his arms, and said, "Tell the others that dessert will be ready in just a few moments."  
  
"Okay," replied Wanda. She began to head out of the kitchen when something on the counter caught her eye. She looked back at her father, who was rummaging in the freezer, oblivious to her actions. She looked back at the counter. She really shouldn't...  
  
Yes, she should.  
  
It would be very, very fun.  
  
She picked the plastic cheese grater off the counter, and slipped it into her jacket pocket. She wondered briefly why exactly the Master of Magnetism would need a plastic cheese grater, then dismissed the thought. She probably didn't want to know.  
  
Meanwhile, Victor Creed was hiding out in the basement.  
  
Now, he had a very good reason for hiding out, despite the fact that hiding out was something that Victor Creed avoided doing unless it was the very, very last option available. Vic was not the cowardly sort, after all. He was a fearsome, terrifying mercenary that scared the living poo out of any do-gooder or villain wannabe that crossed his path. He ripped lives apart like string cheese, pulling at every individual strand mercilessly, consuming with gusto, occasionally leaving it half eaten to be forgotten, and eventually turn strange colors and shrivel up on the back of the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. He was a bad, bad man.  
  
It had been about five thirty when Vic had wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to do before he had to go tell Magneto it was time for dinner. He had opened the freezer, and spotted the carton of ice cream.  
  
Many people were under the misconception that, as a rabidly feral mutant, Vic survived solely on a diet of freshly slaughtered game and the occasional broad.  
  
However, as anyone with any sort of background with the food pyramid realizes, freshly slaughtered game and the occasional broad do not provide a healthy, well rounded diet. A person needs to eat fruits, vegetables, dairy products, grains, and many other sorts of food in order to be a happy, regular individual.  
  
Vic enjoyed being a happy, regular individual. Therefore, he ate a rather balanced diet. He ate salads, apples, and potatoes. He enjoyed a good curry, and wasn't above eating a bagel for breakfast. He had a special fondness in his heart for kiwi, and thought that pomegranates was quite delightful, thank you very much. He wasn't overly fond of tofu, but could find nothing wrong with eating a good soy burger as a replacement for the more traditional beef ones.  
  
But, his absolute favorite food outside of freshly slaughtered game and the occasional broad was ice cream.  
  
He loved many different flavors of ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Rocky road, mint chocolate chip, and the colorful Superman. Peanut butter, mocha, and toffee. Every flavor that Ben and Jerry had come up with, especially Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey, and the ever so delightful Hunka Burnin' Fudge.  
  
However, his greatest ice cream weakness was for cookie dough ice cream. It didn't matter what brand it was, from Mayfield down to the Sir Save A Lot bargain bin close-out off brand. All that mattered was those delicious morses of cookie dough entrenched in the sweet vanilla ice cream. He had killed over the last carton of cookie dough ice cream before, and would undoubtedly do so again.  
  
So, when he had seen the heavenly carton just sitting there, unguarded in the freezer, he had been unable to resist.  
  
It had only been five minutes later, while Vic had ben blissfully savoring the very last spoonful that he had remembered what Magneto had said about the carton of cookie dough ice cream.  
  
"I have a plan to win over Wanda's affections," Magneto had said. "I remembered that she loved cookie dough ice cream as a child, so I'm going to give her some at that dreadful dinner I'm having. Be sure to guard that ice cream from the boys!"  
  
So that had been why the ice cream had been unguarded. He had been supposed to guard it.  
  
He had been staring, horrified at the empty carton. It was much to late to go buy a new carton of ice cream. Magneto's base was so very far out in the boonies of Bayville, it was impossible to get anywhere on short notice. Vic personally didn't see much sense in building a top secret layer out in the middle of nowhere when a large home close to Wal-Mart, Home Depot, and the local bars was not only more convenient, but also less conspicuous.  
  
It also would have made getting a new carton of cookie dough ice cream much more handy for everyone involved.  
  
Vic looked in the freezer again, hoping against hope that a new carton of cookie dough ice cream had appeared. None had.  
  
There was, however, a half empty carton of plain vanilla ice cream.  
  
Vic looked at the vanilla ice cream, and at the high tech microwave across the room.  
  
An idea began to form in his mind.  
  
He stuck the vanilla ice cream in the microwave, nuked it for a minute, and then grinned at himself as he removed the carton of vanilla soup. He poured the vanilla soup in the empty cookie dough ice cream carton, then stuck it back in the freezer. He threw away the now-empty carton of vanilla ice cream, and took off to tell Magneto it was now time for dinner.  
  
But one thing had occurred to him halfway through dinner.  
  
There was no cookie dough in the cookie dough ice cream!  
  
He had known that when he poured the vanilla ice cream into the cookie dough ice cream container, of course. Cookie dough didn't just appear, not even for super powered beings. But the idea of no cookie dough hadn't figured into his plan. There was now ice cream in the container, that was plenty good enough, right?  
  
Well, maybe if he hadn't been the one assigned to guard it.  
  
Now, Magneto was already highly miffed at the world in general, and he would undoubtedly notice the lack of cookie dough in the cookie dough ice cream. And when he did, Vic would have a snowball's chance of explaining himself before metal things began to fly at him at a very high velocity.  
  
And due to the fact that the entire frickin base was metal, there was a startling variety of metal things to be flung at him. Most of which would hurt. A lot.  
  
So therefore, Vic hid in the basement, hoping that someone else would get the blame for the cookie doughless ice cream.  
  
***  
  
Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
  
~Persephone 


	7. Of Cheese Graters and Geese

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: Thanks a million to everyone who reviewed!! (Eileen, you were getting ahead of me!) And thanks to Yelhsa for her help on this part :) Only one chapter to go, y'all!  
  
Chapter Seven Of Cheese Graters and Geese  
  
"Time for desert!" Magneto boomed menacingly.  
  
No one looked particularly impressed. No one moved, either. Remy coughed once, but other than that, the dining room was still.  
  
"I have ice cream!" Magneto pitifully pleaded. A cricket chirped. Mystique snored loudly.  
  
Everyone else just stared at him blankly, except Wanda. She looked up from her sulking. No one was really sure why she was sulking, except perhaps because she had been afraid of the snake, and had expressed her fear in exactly the same manner as her father.  
  
Anyway, Wanda looked up hopefully. "What kind of ice cream?"  
  
"Cookie dough," replied her father.  
  
Wanda squealed with excitement.  
  
Fred, Todd, Lance and Pietro looked at her in disbelief. Had sullen, angry Wanda just... squealed with joy?  
  
Impossible.  
  
"I love cookie dough ice cream!" exclaimed Wanda happily. "It has all the yummy cookie goodness all mixed up in the yummy vanilla ice cream and it's just so awesome and I haven't had any in forever and I can't wait!"  
  
Magneto smiled, knowing that his devilish plot to win over his daughter was working perfectly. With a swoosh of his cape, he left the dining room for the quick journey to the kitchen to get the carton of ice cream.  
  
Wanda continued to go on about the merits of cookie dough ice cream. "The gobs of cookie dough are that perfect frozen texture that blends so well with the ice cream. It's like cookies and milk, but more so, you know!"  
  
Todd couldn't stand it anymore. He hopped over to Wanda's seat, and smacked her on the cheeks a few times. "Get a hold of yourself girl!" "My sister has been replaced by a pod person," Pietro announced. "We need to go get the real Wanda, and force her to listen to the fake one. It might do her some good."  
  
"Or it might finally break her," Lance offered. "A giddy Wanda is enough to scare anyone."  
  
They continued to stare at the excited girl, who was gibbering on about the virtues of cookie dough ice cream.  
  
Fred suddenly chuckled.  
  
"What?" Todd asked.  
  
"You all thought I was obsessed with food!"  
  
While the Brotherhood in its original entirety was discussing Wanda's odd behavior, the Rascals were having something of a conference at the other end of the table.  
  
"We couldn't..." Poitr said, his eyes open wide.  
  
"We shouldn't..." St John added, looking excited at the prospect.  
  
"We should." Remy said decisively. The three boys turned to look at Charlie. The scuzzy man was making a roll and a chicken bone dance a tango across a thin layer of mashed potatoes on his plate.  
  
Poitr said, "Well, if you're sure that it will be alright..."  
  
"Course it will be alright," Remy said as soothingly as he dared. Poitr tended to think that Remy was hitting on him if he talked too soothingly. Not that he had talked to the Russian boy soothingly very often. It was just when he did, the Russian boy took it as an unwanted advance, which was most definitely not the way Remy had intended it.  
  
St John broke the silence. "So, when do we..."  
  
"Right now," Remy interrupted.  
  
The three boys got up and wandered over to Charlie. He looked up at them.  
  
"Charlie," Poitr began.  
  
St John spoke up. "We were wondering..."  
  
"Yeah?" Charlie looked suspicious. He laid the chicken bone very carefully down on the roll, balancing the bone precariously over a leftover bit of ham. Charlie gave the chicken bone a brief word of encouragement, urging the bone to keep its balance despite the throes of gravity.  
  
"Would you possibly.." Poitr said, nervously wringing his hands. "Play 'Duck, Duck, Goose' with us?" Remy interrupted, exasperated with the slowness of the Russian. He ignored the fact that the Australian had likewise been taking forever, because St John was kinda creepy. Always tinkering around in the basement, muttering about world domination...  
  
Charlie looked slightly put off for a moment, an expression on his face clearly showing his mistrust. Then he smiled, and nodded. "Let's play!"  
  
They all stepped away from the table, and decided that Poitr would be 'it.'  
  
Remy, St John, and Charlie then sat on the floor in as close to a circle that three people could make, though it really just looked like a triangle. Poitr began his trek around the circle, saying, "Duck, duck..."  
  
Just then, Magneto swept back into the room, holding a carton of ice cream.  
  
They froze.  
  
He froze, looking at the members of his newest team of evil mutants.  
  
Poitr's hand was hovering just above Charlie's head. Magneto probably had some comment, or some inarticulate noise to make, but just then Wanda leapt.  
  
She tackled Magneto, and pried the carton of ice cream from his hands.  
  
"Cookie dough..." She said, cuddling the carton and eyeing it with raw lust. "Spoon?"  
  
Magneto, hoping she would let him up, levitated a spoon to her. Wanda did let him up, and went to the table, where she pried the lid off the carton.  
  
She stared at it in dismay.  
  
Her lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes misted up. A look of absolute rage took over her dainty features.  
  
"HOW DARE YOU!!" she burst out.  
  
Magneto looked at her, bewildered. What could possibly be wrong with the ice cream? He'd assigned Creed to watch it and everything...  
  
It was at that moment that Magneto realized that Creed was nowhere in sight. He hadn't seen him since before the snake incident, actually. Magneto focused again on his daughter. Everyone had, in fact.  
  
The Brotherhood was backing away slowly, obviously experienced with Wanda's temper. The Rascals were not as wise, and were still just sitting in their triangular circle, with Poitr standing behind Charlie, though he had dropped his hand sometime in the past minute. Mystique was still unconscious, and let out another loud snore. Wanda began to advance on Magneto holding the carton out accusingly.  
  
"Not only did you put me in a looney bin," she began angrily, "you made me think you were going to give me cookie dough ice cream, only to give me this!"  
  
Magneto looked into the carton. Its contents definitely did not look like cookie dough ice cream. He really wasn't sure what it looked like, in fact. It was white and freezer burned. He sniffed at it cautiously. It smelled... vanilla.  
  
He blinked.  
  
Wanda was still ranting at him. He was definitely going to get Creed over this one. No punishment would be to harsh.  
  
"Are you listening to me?" Wanda's voice broke through his mental plans of how to punish Creed using only a stuffed bunny and a Britney Spears CD.  
  
"Of course!" Magneto lied through his teeth.  
  
Wanda lowered her eyes into a quite evil glare. She obviously didn't believe him.  
  
"I hate you!" she declared, and pulled something from her pocket.  
  
A cheese grater.  
  
Not any cheese grater.  
  
The plastic cheese grater he had bought at the Dollar Tree after his trusty metal one had broken after first grating a two pound block of mozzarella, then getting flung at a Jehovah's Witness via magnetic waves, then chasing said Jehovah's Witness for a good three miles before getting hit by a passing eighteen-wheeler. The cheese grater had been greatly mourned.  
  
The plastic one was the only one in stock at the highly reputable Dollar Tree, besides an untrustworthy looking dented metal cheese grater that already had rust around the edges. Magneto had bought it reluctantly, thinking that the plastic one was going to be a lot of trouble. However, to his amazement, grating cheese turned out to be an amazingly relaxing activity. So he had kept the plastic cheese grater so that he had a good excuse to grate the cheese by hand.  
  
Now, however, it seemed to have been a bad strategic move. He was incapable of disarming the angry young female that was currently about three seconds away from attacking him.  
  
Wanda attacked Magneto with the plastic cheese grater.  
  
The collective members of the Brotherhood and the Rascals flinched in unison as they watched the carnage.  
  
Mystique snored again, blissfully passed out on the table. Vic still hid in the basement.  
  
****  
  
Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
  
~Persephone 


	8. Of Phones and Hawaii

Mystique and Magneto's Great Culinary Caper  
  
By Persephone  
  
AN: Well, this is it. Thank everyone who has reviewed so far: todd fan, Eileen, SailorWade, Ambrosia, Red Witch, Alison Sky, happymaximus, Kelly, The Desert Fox, DragonBlond, Goldylokz, and, of course, Yelhsa D. You are all fantastic! I adore you all!  
  
Chapter Eight Of Phones and Hawaii  
"Man, am I glad we got out of there!" Todd exclaimed.  
  
"Amen to that," Fred said, nodding vigorously. The Brotherhood had decided to take a tactical retreat after Wanda's cheese grater arm had gotten tired. Wanda herself was sitting in the front seat of the Avalanche, having taken over Charlie's spot. Charlie himself had been in a strange mood when they'd left Magneto's, muttering to himself about senseless violence and 'kids today, no respect for their elders.'  
  
He had requested they let him out at the highway, and they had done so, letting him, Bob Marley, and Jim go on their merry way.  
  
Lance was very happily driving the Avalanche, since they had been forced to drag Mystique out to the car, unable to awaken her, and had dumped her in the back seat. She was still snoring away. Fred was munching on the honey ham he had taken, saying that they really needed it more than Magneto and his crew. They had also taken the silverware, figuring that they could use it more than Magneto.  
  
"Hey, Lance, stop here," Todd said suddenly, seeing a Kwik-E-Mart. Lance did so without argument, still in the euphoric "I can't believe I'm driving this sexy beast of a vehicle" stage. Todd bounded out of the car, and ran inside. A minute later, he returned with a small bag.  
  
"Here," he said, proffering it to Wanda.  
  
She accepted it cautiously, and looked inside warily. A huge grin soon spread across her face, though.  
  
"You got me ice cream!" she said happily, pulling the pint of cookie dough ice cream out. "Thank you!"  
  
And then she gave Todd a quick hug.  
  
Todd knew that if he had died at that moment, he would die happy.  
  
And so the Brotherhood made their way home.  
  
**  
  
Magneto moaned in pain as he slowly regained consciousness. He could honestly not remember the last time he had hurt so very much. Maybe never. All he knew was that he was throwing that cursed cheese grater in the trash as soon as he was able to get up. No, he would run it over with his Volvo, then throw it away. No, run it over, then melt it, then toss the still liquified remains out to sea to choke some random endangered species. That would be the evil route.  
  
Then he would do the same to his daughter, followed shortly by the severe beating of that neanderthal Sabretooth. They would all suffer. For a long, long time. Like for a full week after he stopped aching himself.  
  
Magneto moaned again, and experimentally opened his eyes. The dining room was empty. Where had they all gone? It had only been a minute since he had passed out... er, decided to take a small nap.  
  
He climbed unsteadily to his feet. His nose throbbed, his head hurt, and it felt like someone had attacked him with a cheese grater. Imagine that. He looked around the dining room. All the chairs were knocked over, the good silver was missing, and the honey ham was gone.  
  
They had taken off! How dare they! When he found them, he was going to wrap them all up in steel bars, and make them forever wander the earth looking of a blowtorch powerful enough to melt through it, freeing them from the full body suits of steel. He would get even for them leaving him.  
  
Maybe, though, the Rascals were still here, hiding. And maybe they knew where the dead man Sabretooth was. Then after they told him, as they would, of course, he would hunt that furry maniac down and teach him to botch up an important mission.  
  
Magneto smiled ferally at a chicken bone which was defying gravity and balancing on a dinner roll. Had any of the mutants under his tutelage been in the room, they would have immediately cowered at the sight of Magneto's furious, bloody face. He was going to get revenge, and teach those disrespectful miscreants exactly why he was one of the most feared mutants in the world! He was Magneto, hear him roar!  
  
He made his way deeper into his evil lair. Passing a window in the hall, he noticed that night had fallen. He must have been out a little longer than he had first reckoned. Where would he find his minions...er, students at?  
  
The Cajun kid was usually on the phone talking to one girl or another. Magneto headed to where the phone sat in the living room on a small table next to the large comfy leather couch. The phone was sitting there, looking lonely. The answering machine flashed that there were twenty seven messages. Magneto decided to check them out, on the off chance that one was for him. It was only his home, after all.  
  
Two were for Poitr, one sounding like his mother and the other his sister. Four were for St John, from a father, a random Aussie, and two teenage girls. One message was from someone selling vinyl siding. Six messages were for his lousy son, all of them simpering teenage girls. There were fourteen messages for the Cajun brat. Five from simpering teenage girls, another three from slightly older women, probably in their early twenties. One was from the kid's criminal adoptive father, and the next five messages were all from Belladonna, the Cajun's scary girlfriend. As far as Magneto could figure, the Cajun kid came from a family perfectly accepting of his mutant status, but he had come to him just to get away from the girl, who was apparently rather violent and rightfully jealous.  
  
Magneto fumed to himself for a moment, angry that he never got any messages. Of course, Creed didn't either, but Creed also had a cell phone.  
  
A cell phone...  
  
He could call the miserable ice cream eater! Make him think he wasn't really mad, and then lure him into a false sense of security. Then, BAM! He would take his revenge.  
  
Yes, he was evil. He was darn good at it, too.  
  
Magneto was smirking evilly at himself as he picked up the phone to dial the number of Sabretooth's cell phone when it struck him that he hadn't the fuzziest clue what Creed's number was.  
  
Well, if that didn't just take the cake. A perfectly evil plot spoiled by such a plebeian mistake. Wait! He knew Mystique's number... He had called there to nag about the Brotherhood's failures enough that he could dial without looking. And they were probably home by now, including that devil child of his...  
  
He was positive Wanda took after his wife. No way she got that temper and ability to hold a grudge from him.  
  
He picked up the phone, and called the Brotherhood's boarding house. After four rings, it was picked up.  
  
"Wally's Roadkill Café... You kill 'em, we grill 'em!" came Toad's voice, sounding sickeningly cheerful.  
  
"Put Mystique on," growled Magneto.  
  
"You're just in luck!" the young mutant said cheerfully. "She just woke up."  
  
Magneto was in no mood to hear the boy speak cheerfully any longer. "If you don't get her on the phone right now, I will see how many strokes with a VERY SHARP axe it takes to chop me off some frog legs."  
  
On the other end, Toad squeaked, and Magneto could clearly hear him yelling, "Hey, Mystique! Maggie's on the phone, and he doesn't sound too happy to me!"  
  
"Give me that!" snapped Mystique, and he heard muffled sounds before the blue woman's voice came through the line smoothly. "Hello, Magneto."  
  
"What is Creed's cell phone number?" Magneto decided to cut right to the point.  
  
"I'm not sure," Mystique said, sounding confused at the question. "He always changes it after I find out what it is."  
  
"Tell that demon child of mine that I'm not happy with her at all," Magneto said as he hung up. That had been useless.  
  
Magneto decided that he had to continue to check out the lair to see if any of the Rascals were still here. He was already leaning towards there not being any due to the eerie silence of the building, but it was always worth a look.  
  
An hour later, Magneto had checked every broom closet and under every bed in the place, but there was no one there. Only one more place...  
  
The basement.  
  
Magneto hated the basement.  
  
He hated it with the fiery passion of ten thousand burning suns. It was just a horrible place. He never, ever went there. Never.  
  
He slowly opened the door, and cautiously peeked down the steps. Inky blackness. He pushed the door completely open, and groped on the wall for the light switch. He found it, and flicked it. Flickering light filled the narrow stairwell.  
  
Magneto swallowed, and reminded himself that this was for revenge only. He had to be strong, because he was evil. Charles wouldn't be afraid of a creepy basement. Charles would just wheel right down the stairs and laugh at him.  
  
Magneto stepped on the first step. He made it to the second one. He paused, and cautiously yelled, "Anyone there?"  
  
"NO!" came a snarled reply from the shadowy depths of the basement.  
  
"Aargh!" Magneto shrieked like a little girl, and promptly fell down the steps. As he lay at the bottom, in severe pain for the second time that night, he heard voices around him.  
  
"Is he dead?"  
  
"Doesn't look like it... He's still breathing."  
  
"Told ya! Fork over that twenty, Poitr."  
  
"What should we do?"  
  
"Man, he's gonna kill us."  
  
"Hey, here are his keys!"  
  
"Where'd you get those, Pietro?"  
  
"His pocket. Look, here's his credit card, too."  
  
"Awesome!"  
  
"Give me those, you little brat."  
  
"Eep. Okay."  
  
As darkness overtook Magneto, he heard one final comment.  
  
"How do you all feel about Hawaii?"  
  
***  
  
Well, it's been fun. Thank you all so much for reading!!  
  
~Persephone 


End file.
